


Color Me Bamboozled

by Di1emma



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Elliott gets a crush quickly but thats because he's a disaster, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mild Gore, Other, POV Alternating, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, due to violence, probably, will get worse later though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 06:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18219416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Di1emma/pseuds/Di1emma
Summary: Elliott considered their first meeting to be in the arena. Bloodhound disagreed.





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> first of all, i know very little about Titanfall but i hope that won't really come to matter lol. second, helmets have a charge like body armor does in this bc it makes more sense tbh, and i made up some stuff about how the games are run which will be explained as the story goes, but if its confusing so far let me know so i can fix it in later chapters. aanndd thirdth thank you for reading, hopefully the formatting hasn't been murdered too badly

Elliott considered their first meeting to be in the arena, his third season of the games, with an impressive collection of wins from the last two under his belt. Only a week into things and already he'd heard of a handful of new up and coming competitors making names for themselves. Among them, Bloodhound, the Technological Tracker; whatever that meant. There were countless ways to track an opponent, but as far as Elliott knew nobody else had any clue how the hound did it. What he did know was it fucking worked. Bloodhound had scored themself three wins in just the past week. Three wins in three matches. They were batting a thousand, with no sign of faltering. 

Elliott had been lucky to not have been in those three matches, able to scrape by with a single win for himself through the week. Luck was, evidently, not on his side this time; his teammates long gone, having not lasted even through the first circle. One had been a rookie, hotheaded and far too eager. He'd split off from Elliott and their other teammate before even landing from the jump. He'd been first blood not a minute later.

His other teammate had lasted a bit longer, a young woman, stealthy and clever, but with unfortunate aim. He couldn't quite kill enough for the both of them in a wild firefight and so he'd made the executive decision to forget her banner to save his own ass. It wasn't a nice thing to do, obviously, and was in fact rather scummy. The thing was, though, she'd wake in the Apex hospital facility with nothing but aches and bruises. She'd be fine and if he managed to fucking win this she and their deserter teammate would all get paid for the victory. Really he was doing her a favor, and he definitely didn’t feel bad about it at all. Yeah.

He just hoped his mama hadn't seen him do that.

“Attention: new kill leader” the pleasantly calm voice rang out across the island, Elliott instinctively turning to watch a banner on a cliff side shimmer and change.

And there they were, the expressionless mask staring out across the landscape. Thirteen kills. Well shit. 

“This isn't great…” he muttered to himself, checking the clips on his guns to make sure they were as full as they could be before pressing forward. He wasn't inside the next circle by a longshot and needed to hustle if he didn't want to get slowly melted to death, or whatever happened to you when caught outside it. He fortunately had never gotten himself caught, but he'd seen a few squads drop from the inside. Didn't look pleasant.

It took him thirty minutes and much more jogging than he would have liked, but he did manage to slide into the new circle before the wall of death even began to close in on him. He sat down in the cover of the nearest building to rest, and realized in that time no new kill leader had been announced and the squad numbers were dropping steadily. It seemed the hunter was ready to claim their fourth victory. Elliott wondered if Wraith and her squad were still up, maybe he could get her to pity kill him. He could rely on her to make it painless at the very least. He really didn't want to be stabbed in the heart multiple times by a serrated hunting knife. 

He wondered also if the squads he'd abandoned that new girl to had taken each other out, or if they'd still be out to get him. If they were they'd be tailing not too far behind, especially with the closing circle as encouragement. 

This match really wasn't his to take, huh? Maybe after the preliminary rounds his squad for the season would be more competent. The show runners tended to stack things in favor of the fan favorites and if Elliott was sure of anything he was sure he knew how to make people like him. 

With a sigh he stood, moving through the buildings around him in search of loot. All the doors were closed, but the loot was nothing special and sparse. Odd for Skull Town. Glancing up, he spotted a door across from him that was slightly ajar, setting him on edge as he approached slowly. Logically he should have just skedaddled on out of there, the only real chance he had of winning was hiding out until the last squad --or whoever remained from the last squad-- came to him and he could have a chance to keep the element of surprise. The thing was, though, the games weren't about being logical. They were about the tension, the excitement. It was an act, that's what made Elliott so good at it. Out here Elliott wasn't real, Mirage was, and Mirage may use decoys and tricks to win, but Mirage wasn't a coward. If he ran and hid instead of checking it out it would disappoint the fans, and disappointed fans were a dangerous thing to collect. 

He approached the door, pressing himself to the wall as he slowly pulled it the rest of the way open, using it as a shield of sorts. Nothing moved or made a noise so he sent a decoy through the doorway. 

Almost immediately a cry went out, raspy and inhuman, the real Elliott jumping back as a small swarm of black birds dove through the door and then up into the sky. That was… unusual.

Then the air shattered.

The first thing he heard was the window breaking with a sniper shot, far from him, but undoubtedly murdering his poor double. He threw himself to the sand, rolling into what he hoped was cover. After a few seconds of silence he sent another decoy running across the open space towards the other buildings. Two more sniper shots rang out but paused again as the clone dramatically stumbled, clutching at its chest before it flickered out. The silence that followed was heavy, but in a way almost inquisitive. The sniper clearly was on to him, but part of him wanted to test their patience. Would they wait him out? Would they make their way down to take him out at closer range? If he was going to lose here, he may as well play a little. 

Scooting along the wall to his back, Elliott made his way to the other end of the building. This time when he sent his clone running the sniper hesitated. Then fired. Wood splintered by Elliott's cover, just around the corner, sending shards of it flying by his face. He knew the sniper hadn't been aiming to kill him. No way to aim perfectly through a wall, and no angle on him from his cover. That bullet was a warning. An affirmation. “I know what you are doing.” It said. 

“Perfect.” Elliott mumbled to himself, though a smirk was playing across his features. Always the actor, always with the winning smiles and quick thinking. He was a trickster, and he could trick his way out of this.

That is, he would have if his mystery sniper had just kept their ass where they were. He didn't even hear them approaching until he peeked around the corner to see the masked and looming figure of Bloodhound moving slowly towards him, passing between two buildings, their stride sure and confident. They were convinced of their victory then. He could play with that. 

He pressed himself flat to the wall, waiting until he could just barely see their shadow peeking around the corner before he deployed a wall of clones, cloaking himself to fall back and duck around the other side of the building. He couldn't see anyone else hanging around when he surveyed the area. Their squad must have been eliminated then. From what he'd seen and been told Bloodhound was a team player; they wouldn't have just gone off alone. He thought briefly back to the girl he'd left to the wolves. Would Bloodhound have been disgusted? Angered? Were they loyal to people, or to victory?

Shaking his head, Elliott continued around the building to come up behind Bloodhound who was glancing around. Movements unhurried and practiced. 

Then they turned, suddenly quick and almost alarmed in nature, as though they were an animal alerted to an unknown predator. They weren't looking directly at him, but it was a near enough thing to make Elliott press back against the wall round the corner, waiting to see what the hound would do. 

He almost cursed aloud when his cloaking wore off, and he pulled the Wingman from his belt, backing up as he waited for the hunter to round the corner. He only had ten rounds but hopefully that would be enough to take them down. If he got some headshots off. Yeah he had this under control.

He did manage to get that headshot, but the blue ripple of light which fanned out from where he'd hit told him they had a helmet. Probably good body armor too if they were the one who looted the buildings before him. The helmet kept them up of course, but the force of the bullet did snap their head back, sending them stumbling back a step. Elliott took the chance to once again dive for cover, sending a clone in the opposite direction he ran, hoping the fifty percent chance would be enough to get him to safety. 

He threw himself into a building, not bothering to close the door behind himself. He crouched, regaining his breath and gathering his thoughts. He considered his options here; there was no fooling the hunter, obviously, so he would just have to keep them on edge. They couldn't be fooled but they could be surprised. The trick now was keeping them surprised long enough to get the upper hand. 

Based on the fact that Bloodhound hadn't burst through the door yet, he figured that last ditch clone had distracted them and they'd been thrown off his scent so to speak. Or maybe they did use scent to track, who fucking knew?

His thoughts were interrupted by a wave of orange light washing over him before disappearing the next second. Elliott had no idea what the hell was going on but he wasn't about to hang out there to find out. He scrambled to his feet, managing to send a clone through the door before him. Despite whatever crazy wall hacks Bloodhound had turned on, they were startled by the decoy, reeling back just slightly. Just long enough to give Elliott an edge and he took it. He blasted them twice in the chest with his Wingman before tackling them to the ground.

He managed to punch out the rest of their helmet's charge and was reaching for his gun to finish this. but they regained their wits quickly, grabbing Elliott's wrists and twisting; throwing their whole weight up and to the side to get on top. 

Then suddenly Elliott's Wingman was in their hands and pointed into his chest. His armor melted under the onslaught of bullets, but before he could be truly wounded he swung a fist wildly, hoping to hit their face but instead smacking the gun from their hands.

After that it was a flurry of fists and kicking as they rolled around in the sand. Elliott had known the other was strong, but it was almost startling to witness up close. After all they weren't obviously well built, not like Gibraltar or even Bangalore were. They hid their true silhouette under layers clothing and gear, but now it was apparent to Elliott that Bloodhound was not someone to underestimate in any capacity. They had to have a weakness, though, everyone did.

He managed to get back on top of the other, aiming to punch out the eyes of their mask; figuring if they had a weakness it would be under the damned thing. They threw their arms up to block his blows, and when he grabbed at their wrists to push them away they used the opportunity to throw him to the side with a force he still could not believe they possessed.

His landing knocked the breath out of him before a sharp pain exploded through his back as he was thrown down onto a rock? Some bit of debris? Whatever it was slid into his flesh and muscle like a hot knife through butter, and he clenched his teeth against a scream as he felt it scrape against his spine. Something snapped, and then something crunched as he involuntarily spasmed. He squeezed his eyes shut as the pain only worsened, each gasping breath he tried to pull in forcing the object deeper into the mess it had made of his back. 

He had to move, to get up and keep fighting. He knew a death here wasn't permanent, but it was an instinct for any creature to not want to die.

It took him a moment to realize the whimpering he was hearing was from his own mouth, and a moment more to hear the soft shushing from above him. He didn't, couldn't, force his eyes open, but it struck him as strange. Why would Bloodhound try to comfort him? 

“I will end this misery, but do not be disheartened. We fought, and this makes you brave, and no coward.” They murmured to him in such a gentle way Elliott was sure it must be a hallucination, but he didn't have long to consider this when he felt a knife slide between his ribs, hardly even noticing the pain of it against the object piercing his back.

He woke, of course, in an Apex issue hospital bed, surrounded by the other fallen competitors. Groaning, he sat up, his back aching but distinctly not stabbed through with scrap metal. Most others in the room had their eyes glued to the large screen above the door, broadcasting the rest of the match. 

He must have been out for a bit because it was down to the last two squads. Three competitors total left standing. Bloodhound, still kill leader, was the camera's focus as they slid down a hill to cover behind a rock as a hail of bullets followed them. 

Elliott let out a small shout of excitement as the camera panned up to the shooters. Wraith and Gibraltar steadily moving forward, bearing down on the hunter. Wraith said something to Gibraltar, too quiet for the camera, before void walking down the hill. She popped back into existence in front of Bloodhound, destroying their body armor with a shot from her Peacekeeper, and knocking them back against the rock with a second shot. 

They left a smear of crimson on the stone as they slid down, weakly they attempted to raise their own gun but a headshot from Gibraltar, who came sliding down to join Wraith, put them down. 

Gruesome, but he knew the hunter would be just fine like the rest of them were, so Elliott couldn't feel too bad for them.

Excited, though, for his friend's victory, Elliott jumped out of the bed, taking a moment to stretch the stiffness from his spine before heading from the the room to wait for Wraith at the lounge.

“All hail our new champion, slayer of the infamous hell hound!” He called out from his spot half laying on a couch, moving his legs to give her room to join him. She let out a huff that told him she was trying not to give him the satisfaction of making her laugh, but it was just as good in his book. He smirked lazily at her, propping his chin on his hand, “No, but really you're the first one to kill them so far. How's it feel?”

“It was only their fourth game, Elliott.”

“Yeah, but Nobody wins their first game, let alone the second and third too.” He pointed out, “Don't discredit yourself, they're batshit somethin’ and you still won.”

“They were alone and weakened, it wasn't hard.” She said, somehow bragging and brushing off his compliment at the same time. He was going to say something snarky about it when he became suddenly aware of a silence falling over the room. He glanced over the back of the couch to the door, eyes widening at the sight of Bloodhound --still in full gear-- standing in the doorway. Despite the mask and heavy clothes, they looked... awkward? Like they weren't sure what they were doing there. Elliott could understand to an extent. From what he knew of the hunter they weren't used to the limelight. Being followed by cloaked cameras you can forget are there in the arena is different from being stared down by everyone in a room.

They straightened up slightly as they're scanning gaze landed on him and he suddenly wanted to shrink back into the couch cushions. 

“Here comes trouble.” Wraith muttered, pretending to be very interested in a holo-mag on the coffee table as the hunter approached.

“Mirage.” Now that he wasn't actively trying to not be killed by them, he could take them in fully. They were about his height, maybe shorter, hard to tell with all their gear. Their voice was lighter in pitch than he'd expected, though to be fair he was fully expecting some Darth Vader shit, but also heavily accented. He'd heard it back in the arena when they'd spoken to him before he died, but he wasn't completely sure if he'd imagined that part or not.

“That's me baby.” He answered, wholly by instinct, winking at that stone cold mask. He could hear Wraith choking on a laugh behind him, but he ignored her. Bloodhound tilted their head at him and he could almost imagine a raised eyebrow.

“Do you flirt with everyone who kills you or am I just special?” they sounded almost amused, which caught Elliott off guard for a moment. For someone who hid behind a mask, they were more expressive than several people he could name just off the top of his head. 

“I would say it's just you, but I don't wanna find out where lying to you would land me.” He said good-naturedly, but it seemed he'd struck a nerve and Bloodhound's posture shifted from casual back to uncomfortable. 

“I did come find you to apologise,” they held a hand up to silence him when he opened his mouth to protest, “not for killing you. For causing you unnecessary pain. It was not a clean kill, nor a fair one. I hope we may meet again in battle, your abilities and skill are impressive.”

“Uh yeah, no, I mean uh, apology accepted, I barely even remember what happened so no real damage done.” Elliott stumbled over his thoughts, absolutely struck dumb by the hunter's words and sincerity. They nodded once then strode from the room looking for all the world like they wanted to run.

Elliott was left wondering if that might have been the longest conversation they'd had with another human in a long time as Wraith broke into wheezing laughter by his side.

 

\---

 

Bloodhound considered their first meeting to be three days after that. They refused to to count accidentally crippling then mercy killing Mirage in the arena as a proper meeting, and honestly they'd much rather pretend their subsequent awkward apology never happened. 

They met again in the lounge, a semi-public place where the general population was barred from entering, but select reporters and guests of competitors were welcomed. Bloodhound had grown tired of their room, and mostly had wanted a change of scenery. They definitely were not people watching for fun. Absolutely not.

Twenty minutes ago the bartender had set a glass in front of them claiming it'd come from an admirer. They'd almost laughed at that. Admire them? For killing? For hunting as the gods willed it? 

They were a little flattered.

They also weren't about to pretend like whoever it was hadn't sent them a drink in hopes they'd take their mask off to drink it. Laughable. In truth they had little to hide, but they would protect viciously their right to hide it. Besides, fame not their goal here. In fact the prospect was rather daunting and they took comfort in concealing their identity. 

Let the masked, inhuman and mysterious, Bloodhound gain the fame and notoriety. The person underneath was allowed their secrets, their privacy.

“Woah! Almost didn't recognize you without the rest of your getup!” Bloodhound had heard Mirage approaching and didn't startle at the man's voice, but they did tilt their head at him, a befuddled expression crossing their face. Not that anyone would see it. 

They knew they looked much different in normal civilian clothing rather than the ‘getup’ they wore for hunting, even while keeping the mask. They were more confused about why Mirage would speak to them when there was a room full of much more inviting people around them.

“I could say the same for you, banana peel.” They responded anyway, which startled a laugh out of the man as he slid into the seat across the table from them. 

“Ouch, I'm wounded.” He complained, hand dramatically over his heart. He was joking, clearly, but Bloodhound easily caught sight of a bruise forming around Mirage's left eye.

“Yes, you are.” They pointed out, gesturing to their own face when Mirage looked confused. He understood the gesture, cursing under his breath for a moment as he gingerly prodded the forming black eye.

“Had a bit of a dis- disa- .. had a fight with a teammate from the other day.” he explained, waving a hand flippantly like it didn't matter that someone had punched him in the face… or rather like it was a normal occurrence for him to be punched in the face. “From the match where you killed me.” He clarified without really needing to.

“I remember.” They pointed out, how could they forget? They'd also died that day. One of their hands left the glass in front of them to rest fingertips lightly against their chest. It no longer ached as it had the day after, but they remembered the sensation nonetheless.

“Rough one for both of us, huh? Are you gonna drink that?” Mirage asked, always bouncing from topic to topic. So different from Bloodhound's own measured and methodical approach to life. They felt as though they would get whiplash simply by being close to the man.

“I don't know what it is.” They admitted, but slid the drink across to Mirage regardless. The man shrugged and took a swig of it. Bloodhound watched as he made a face at it, shrugged again, then took another swig. 

“I mean no offense by this,” they began, catching Mirage's attention, “but why are you speaking to me? Are we not rivals?” Every other competitor had given them a wide berth, intimidated or flat out fearful of them. Yet here this man they had faced and killed in the arena was, sitting across a table from them and grinning charmingly. No, just grinning. Nothing charming about it.

“Out on the island, yeah, doesn't mean I can't talk to you any other time.”

“Talk, or try to pry out my weaknesses?”

“Man and here I thought I was para- paran- .. think people are out to get me.” 

There was a lot Bloodhound could say to that. Explain that they had good reason for their cautious behavior. Point out that everyone was, in fact, out to get them as per the nature of the games. Tell Mirage it was none of his or anyone's business why they chose to dress, or act, or speak they way they did. Instead they just gestured at their own masked face as if saying 'what did you expect?’

“I-” Mirage said, “Yeah, fair point.” He chuckled, shaking his head, “You know you're actually really funny when you aren't talking about slaughtering people and bathing in blood.” It was Bloodhound's turn to chuckle.

“You aren't the only one who can act, Elliott Witt.” they said, using the other's name for the first time. It was strange, but it felt nice, to be even a little familiar with someone. Even when they did so in an attempt to gain the advantage in the conversation. Elliott gasped dramatically,

“What, so you don't want to bathe in my blood? I'm well and truly hurt!” He lamented, “So the bloodthirsty part is an act?” they didn't correct him on that, simply shrugging one shoulder. It was true they didn't normally say the things they did for the cameras, and they certainly didn't caress their knives lovingly on a regular basis, but they did enjoy the hunt. The thrill of going into a fight knowing it would end only with one beating heart was what reminded them that after everything, they were alive. If that made them 'bloodthirsty’ then so be it, but this man didn't need to know any more than his own assumptions about them. 

“Okay,” Elliott continued, “what about the rest of it? You know, there are a lot of rumors about you floating around?”

“Most are just rumors.” They said, making a dismissive motion with their hand, but then pausing for a second, “Except the one that I'm part bat. I like that one, it can be true.” They said, tone serious as though giving permission to the rumor alone made it correct.

Elliott, who had been taking a sip from Bloodhound's drink, nearly choked.

“Do-,” he was cut off by several coughs, “do people say that!? Do they think you use ec- echo- .. do the clicking thing?” 

Bloodhound leaned forward across the table as though to tell a secret but instead let out a series of clicks, causing Elliott to reel back, still laughing.

“How did you do that with your mouth?” He asked, wheezing.

“I am part bat, keep up Elliott.”

The man's responding laughter was bright and slightly breathless, and he snorted a few times. It was endearing, in a way.

Bloodhound could not remember the last time they had spoken so casually to another human. The friendliest company they'd had since they were a teenager had been their ravens, who could mimic speech, but certainly could not hold a conversation. It was nice, to joke around and be more than the masked hunter, but they knew better than to get used to it.

They just tried not to notice the disappointment on Elliott's face when they excused themself, claiming to be tired and wanting to return to their apartment. 

Making friends was not integral to the hunt, and so they must restrain the urge. The gods would guide them back to Elliott Witt if they were intended to become companions. 

They just couldn't help but hope that it would be so.

 

\---

 

Each season of the Apex Games began with three weeks of preliminaries, in which there was essentially an open tryout to get into the top sixty who would be the 'cast’ of the main season. Matches were run daily, but due to the sheer number of people vying to get a spot, not everyone was fighting everyday. 

On his off days Elliott liked to sit down and catch up on reading. Specifically reading articles about himself. Not because he was vain, which he was, but because he wanted to make sure the people still loved him.

See, winning these rounds wasn't nearly as important as the ones later on, so he wasn't worried about winning, yet. What mattered here was putting on a good show. Someone could win every match they played, but if the audience didn't like them they'd be kicked to the curb in favor of higher ratings.

That's what made Mirage good at this. He could hold his own in a firefight, sure, and his decoys were definitely an advantage, but his real weapon was his charisma. Get the fans on your side and you always win, even when you lose.

“You care so much about making people like you.” The heavily filtered voice suddenly speaking close to his ear made Elliott jump just about a foot in the air. Bloodhound reeled back slightly as well, clearly not expecting to have startled him.

He wondered how long they'd been reading over his shoulder, and felt a twinge of embarrassment at being caught reading an article about an interview he'd done only yesterday. He just wanted to read the comments at the bottom, he wasn't so self absorbed to want to read his own words, just self absorbed enough to wanna know what people were saying about him.

“Well, I mean, yeah. If nobody likes you, you don't get into the top sixty. Just how it goes.” He said, clearing his throat and trying to pretend like his heart wasn't still thudding loudly from the scare. Bloodhound leaned back in to read over his shoulder again, tilting their head as he swiped to the next article.

“Top ten sexiest Apex competitors. Are they serious? Is that what people care about?” They made a sound that was almost a laugh and Elliott told himself it was not cute.

“Uh yeah, how could they not when my hot bod is out there.” He smirked, his ego only inflated more as he scrolled down to find himself at the number one spot on the list. He scoffed at some of the others listed, nearly gagging at Caustic being given the number eight spot. Either someone was pulling a prank here, or some people had fucked up tastes.

“Holy shit!” He barked out a startled laugh as he reached the bottom of the page. Bloodhound had been scanning the lounge, leaning forward almost casually against the back of couch he sat on, but whipped their gaze back to him at his exclamation.

“Number ten, Bloodhound.” He just about squeaked as he held up the holopad for the other to see. They tilted their head at it for a moment, seeming contemplative.

“This is ob- obvis-, clearly bullshit,” Elliott continued, still giggling, “you're at least ten times sexier than Caustic.” 

“You don't know what my face looks like.”

“I don't need to know what your face looks like to know it's better than that!” He argued, scrolling back up to point at the picture of Caustic imbedded in the article. Bloodhound ducked their head to the side, but Elliott could see their shoulders shaking with laughter. 

He took some pride in being able to make the masked hunter show a more relaxed side of themself. They still wore the mask, sure, but they looked much more human leaning against a couch, wearing an over-large hoodie, and trembling with suppressed laughter. Maybe they were the same with everyone outside the arena, but Elliott had his doubts about the probability of that. Bloodhound didn't exactly exude social energy.

When he turned his attention back to his holopad, though, he almost wished they weren't standing just behind him. The next article was headed with a picture that had obviously been taken a few days ago, when Elliott had invited himself to sit with Bloodhound in the lounge. He was grinning widely in the image, Bloodhound leaning across the table to seemingly whisper something to him. 

Elliott knew that had been when the hunter was joking about being part bat, but whatever desperate reporter had snuck the picture clearly wanted to tell a different story.

‘Star Crossed Lovers? Mirage and Bloodhound Caught in Intimate Moment’ the article boasted, claiming they had clearly been on a date. The gall! If Elliott was gonna take Bloodhound on a date he'd take them somewhere nicer than the Apex Lounge! Not that he was thinking about it.

He swore quietly when a quick scan of the source showed it was from none other than the most popular gossip site this side of the system.

“This is… not great.” Bloodhound muttered, suddenly next to him, making him jump again. Quickly, Elliott replaced his stunned expression with a relaxed grin as he shrugged, trying to play it cool.

“I mean tabloids say all kinds of things about the competition, it's not-”

“Were you not saying before that what the audience thinks is the key to success in these games?” They interrupted, catching Elliott off guard,

“Yeah…” he said mostly to himself, what Bloodhound was getting at dawning on him. Quickly he scrolled to the comments, groaning at the flood of people in support of their 'relationship’ gushing about them; complete with every heart emoji in the known universe.

“If we act as though we are not lovers-”

“Then the fans won't be happy, and then we're in trouble. Fuck.” He finished for them, leaning back to glare up at nothing. He picked his head back up when he felt the couch dip beside him, Bloodhound sitting down finally.

“Perhaps we can work this in our favor?” they spoke quietly, but with purpose, and Elliott easily picked up on what they were saying.

“You mean play it up for the cameras, give the people what they want?” He almost couldn't believe what he was hearing, and that masked face tilted in just a way that he could imagine a smirk behind it's surface just as clearly as seeing it.

“I did say you are not the only one who can act.”


	2. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan is going great. Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so glad yall liked the first chapter, thank you so much for the nice comments! <3
> 
> theres more blood and fun stuff like that in this chapter, but also some good birds and Wraith so it kinda weighs itself out i'd say

“What have you gotten yourself into this time?” Bloodhound asked their own reflection, a hair tie held between their teeth as they pulled their hair back into a tight braid. 

“Let's just pretend we're in love, that can't go wrong in any way.” They mocked themself, turning from the mirror to continue preparing for their match.

At the time, back in the lounge, it had seemed like it could work. Make a big deal out of their 'relationship’, and get a leg up on the competition. Get the fans invested and force the producers’ hands. No problem, really. Other than the part where Bloodhound had no idea how to do that.

They could put on a mask, play a part. They could be the bloodthirsty predator the audience already fell in love with. They could be the mysterious hunter with a shady past. That was easy because those things were already part of who they were. Being in love? That was something foreign. 

They weren't a stranger to seeking company in the night, to wanting --needing-- another warm body to chase away some of the chill in their chest. Desperate moments stolen in the dark were not love, though, and Bloodhound had never pretended they were.

They would just have to follow Elliott's lead in this, as much as they were loathe to rely anyone. Then again, he had been the only person here to just talk them for the sake of doing so. He was smart and knew his way around the games; around people. They didn't dislike him, not by a longshot, and he was at the very least entertaining. 

Bloodhound sighed and shook their head as they slipped their mask on. Maybe this wouldn't be as hard as they thought.

 

\---

 

Elliott still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Bloodhound had come up with the idea of faking a relationship. It was exactly the kind shit he usually thought to pull, and he was a little disappointed that Bloodhound had been the one to come up with it first.

It shouldn't be hard though, right? His end of things would be easy at least, he'd been through this song and dance before with all sorts of people. Granted, all those times had been real, and had garnered him a bit of a reputation as a 'player’; which he resented a fair amount in actuality. He liked to sleep around, sure, but he'd never cheat on anyone like tabloid gossip pieces tried to imply.

Shit. He realized he wasn't gonna get laid for as long as they pulled this stunt then. He wouldn’t risk giving anyone a real reason to believe he was a cheater. He’d sooner run into a squad fight with nothing but a mozambique. Unless he managed to seduce Bloodhound themself, but those odds were astronomical at best. Not that he'd thought about it at all.

Back to Bloodhound, though, Elliott had a feeling they’d never dated before in their life. He didn’t want to assume, but anyone who donned a mask and traveled the frontier hunting its deadliest beasts for the hell of it, didn’t exactly come off as someone who’d had a normal life. Elliott, on the other hand, probably had one of the more tame backgrounds of any of the legends. Other than the whole shitshow with his brothers, but that was a can of worms he would not be opening. Ever.

“Show time.” He muttered to himself as he passed the mirror by his front door, giving his reflection a wink and double finger guns. He'd just have to wing it and try not to make Bloodhound uncomfortable in the process. Maybe he should have asked for their number so they could plan things better… wait, did they even have a phone? 

Whatever. It was fine. All good. Easy peasy. He had it all under control...

 

\---

 

It seemed Bloodhound was right in letting Elliott just do what he wanted. The trickster had appeared to be almost drawn to them in the arena over the past week, and despite facing each other several times as enemies they had yet to hurt each other. Elliott, or Mirage rather, made a show of missing when aiming at them, and they even saw him blow a kiss their way a few times. They responded with fond sighs, shakes of their head, and just as equally missing their marks when he was involved. It pained them to do so, but they would not take pleasure in killing a target who was clearly not trying. 

In truth they still longed for a rematch to their first fight, the memory seared far too hot under their skin. They couldn't get one, though, not in the arena at least. It would not look good on them to get in a dirty fist fight with the man they were supposedly dating. Even with their lack of experience they knew that generally wasn't something a couple did. They would just have to be content with shooting somewhat in Elliott's direction as he waved enthusiastically at them, or not so inconspicuously dropping a syringe or shield cell for him while pretending they didn't know he was there.

The audience ate it up, though, as they had planned for them to. They were fan favorites by far, with forum threads and fan pages filling up alarmingly fast with pictures and clips of them being 'cute’ together. Reporters were all but begging for couples interviews, but those were at least easily dodged with the fact that Bloodhound didn't do interviews at all.

Despite the new nuisances, though, Bloodhound was pleased with how well their plan was working. It was also nice to have a friend in Elliott outside of the arena, they had to admit, he was growing on them. 

The gods, for once, seemed to be doing them a kindness.

 

\---

 

“Oh come on!” Elliott groaned as he boarded the dropship to find one Alexander Nox already sitting in the first seat for Squad Four. 

“I'm not exactly jumping with joy either, Witt.” the older man grumbled. Elliott scowled down at him for a moment longer before taking the third seat. Whatever poor bastard was their third teammate could sit next to gas man.

While the squads for the main season were static, the preliminaries were a bit of a grab bag. To keep things ‘fair’ for everyone, the competitors weren't told who their squadmates were until boarding the dropship. Kept those who were already acquainted from planning ahead and having an unfair advantage over those who were strangers.

“Already fighting?” Speaking of already acquainted, Elliott couldn't help but grin up at the familiar mask as Bloodhound stopped in front of them.

“What? Nah, he's not worth the effort.” He scoffed as Bloodhound took the empty seat between him and Caustic.

“Good. Behave yourself. Both of you.” They turned to Caustic as well who rolled his eyes, making a noise of disgust.

“I'm not your toy like he is, don't try to control me.” 

“I'm not trying to-”

“Then do-”

“I am _telling_ you.”

Ok, wow, that did something in the pit of Elliott's gut. He just wasn't quite sure if it was because Caustic actually seemed intimidated for once, or if it was the tone of Bloodhound's voice and the way they somehow seemed to look down on the taller man. Maybe both. Then, suddenly, what Caustic had said registered.

“Hey I'm not their-”

“Elliott.” His words froze in his chest as a gloved hand landed on his shoulder and pushed him lightly back, “Behave.”

It probably wasn't a great look to cross his arms and pout about it, but there weren't any cameras on the ship, so it didn't really matter. 

“Word has spread far it seems.” Bloodhound's whisper brought him back from his pouting to raise an eyebrow at them. Word about what? Bloodhound seemed to understand the expression alone as they gestured vaguely at Caustic, “he called you my 'toy’. Other competitors believe we are together now, even the ones who I doubt are reading gossip articles.” they gestured again to Caustic.

“Oh.”

“Oh.” They repeated, and Elliott wasn't sure if they were teasing or mocking him.

“They'll be trying to use that against us. Not that it'll do anything, but they'll try.” He supplied very helpfully. Bloodhound did nod, though, so he probably didn't sound as obvious as he thought. Either that or they were just being nice.

“We will be ready for them, and we will _bleed_ them.” Their voice took on a deep intensity that made him worry about just how much of their bloodthirsty persona was an act, but damn if it didn't make him wanna find out.

 

\---

 

“Mirage!” Bloodhound called through the thick gas swirling in their vision. Their mask had a filter which kept them safe from Caustic's traps, but Elliott had nothing. 

They cursed under their breath when no answer came. They knew Caustic to be opportunistic and self centered, but gas-trapping his two teammates to take out an enemy squad? That was just, as Elliott would put it, a dick move.

“Elliott?” they didn't have a habit of using real names in the arena, but this was an emergency. Besides, a significant other would probably drop professionalism in the face of death, no?

“He's out here.” They were surprised to hear Caustic's voice answer, but they didn't let it show as they navigated quickly from the building. They slammed the door behind themself to be sure that the neurotoxin wouldn't spill out, and definitely not because they were pissed.

They froze, though only for a moment, when they spotted Caustic standing over Mirage who was laying on his back a few feet to their left, far too still. They must have looked as ready to kill as they felt, as Caustic was already stepping away, hands up in a mocking surrender.

“Lower your hackles, attack dog. I didn't touch him. He came charging backwards out that door and fell over the railing.” He spat, pointing up to where a second story door was still open, wisps of toxin curling into the breeze. 

Bloodhound sighed loudly, kneeling down next to Mirage, hesitating for a moment before tapping his cheek lightly with a gloved hand.

“Mirage. Wake up, this is no way lose a match.” They scolded, slapping with a bit more force. The man under them twitched, mumbling something they couldn't make out.

“Mir-” suddenly they were thrown back by the force of Elliott's head colliding with their mask as he tried to sit up too quickly.

“Fuck!” He hissed, falling back into the mud, covering his face with both hands. He groaned loudly, bending one leg to stomp the ground in pain. Bloodhound shook their head at the display, readjusting their mask.

“You will live, don't be dramatic.” Bloodhound tsked as they leaned forward again to hover over Mirage, this time not quite as close to his face. 

“Your shitty fashion sense gave me a co- con- c- .. fucking broke my head!” He complained. If Bloodhound wasn't so patient they'd have stood up and moved on, but as it was they were, in fact, very patient.

“You fell backwards off a balcony and knocked yourself out. If anything, that is what gave you a concussion.” They pointed out, gently wrapping their fingers around the man's wrists, “Let me see.” 

Elliott slowly moved his hands away from his face, squinting up against the sunlight. Bloodhound took pity on him and adjusted their position to cast a shadow over his face before reaching out to ghost fingers over the already forming bump on his forehead. Elliott flinched, sucking a pained breath through his teeth, so they withdrew their hand.

“Follow my finger with your eyes.” They instructed, holding their pointer finger up and moving it slowly from one side to the other. They frowned at Mirage's reaction time. He was definitely concussed.

“Don't laugh at me, 's not funny.” Elliott slurred, shutting his eyes when Bloodhound lowered their hand.

“I'm not laughing.”

“You are. On the inside.” 

“You caught me,” they deadpanned, gripping Mirage's forearm, “can you stand?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He groaned, letting Bloodhound haul him to his feet. He swayed, but they caught him easily around the waist, steadying him.

“Hey now, at least buy me dinner first.” 

“I _will_ drop you.”

This was going to be a long match.

 

\---

 

Elliott had no idea how Bloodhound and Caustic managed it, but they won even while toting around his half conscious ass. The former had shot him up with a syringe near the end of the match, and while it was starting to clear out the cotton in his skull, he wasn't nearly cured. It also didn't help that the Apex Games had a strict policy on only healing fatal injuries cause it ‘kept the risk alive’ or whatever. Really what it meant was he was plum outta luck.

Which of course led to him following Bloodhound around like some kind of lost puppy from the field onto the ship back home, and then from the ship to the car to the front steps of the Apex housing building. 

“-iott.” Fuck was someone talking to him? He'd been hiding from the sun and fluorescent lighting in Bloodhound's shadow, and hadn't even noticed them turn to face him.

“The lobby is full of paparazzi.” They said quietly, obviously trying to be easy on his pounding head. That was sweet of them. He groaned at the prospect of facing the press though, he'd already embarrassed himself out there he didn't need to do it again.

“Did you hear me?” Bloodhound's voice was so smooth and low, soothing despite the way their mask clearly altered it. He'd give a great number of things to hear it unfiltered; most of which were probably not appropriate to think about just then.

“Sorry, what?” 

“I said I will distract them so you can sneak through. Get some rest, you need it.” For a moment it looked as though they were going to pat his shoulder, but aborted the movement, instead turning to climb the steps.

If Elliott stared at their ass as they did, well, nobody had to know.

 

\---

 

They honestly didn't know why they were so protective of this man... okay that was a lie they knew exactly why, but he was an adult. He could, in theory, handle himself. He didn't need them to do this for him, but they were going to do it despite all rational thought.

Bloodhound stalked into the lobby, their course of action already cemented into their mind, their target locked. Alexander had entered the building a few minutes ago, and was speaking to a few reporters while others attempted to crowd around Bloodhound. Several more were clearly waiting on other competitors, and would definitely love to pounce on Elliott.

They would just have to cause a scene, then.

The sea of paparazzi split for them smoothly as they strode across the lobby towards Nox, who turned to give them a look of suspicious curiosity. A look one might give a wild animal who wandered too close and might strike. Smart man. There were a number of things they could think to say to him, but really what mattered was what they were itching to do to him.

So without a word, they balled their right hand into a fist and swung. The sound of the strike rang out a moment before every reporter in the room gasped, then clambered to get the best seat in the house.

“That was for gassing us.” They informed Nox, who looked less angry than they'd expected, and more intrigued by the behavior they were displaying. They had to admit it was somewhat out of character, for the character they showed to the world at least. Privately, their blood was singing, almost hoping for the man to fight back. They were not a child, though, they could control their impulses. Usually.

Bloodhound took half a step back, ready to just face the tide of questions and cameras now pointed at them, but something Nox had said in the arena suddenly popped into their mind, and had them punching him again before they could stop themself.

“And that was for calling me a dog.”

Nox hit the floor, not unconscious, but clearly hurting. Good.

Feeling satisfied, Bloodhound turned to face the crowd. Three microphones were shoved into their face, questions overlapping as the reporters nearly fought each other to get their story.

Funny, how none bat an eye at the killings in the arena, yet gasp and push each other around over a couple thrown punches. They answered only what they could nonverbally, watching like a hawk as Elliott slipped into the building and slunk behind them all. As soon as the doors to the elevator closed behind him, they pushed their way through the crowd and began ascending the stairs. None tried to follow, a small mercy they supposed.

Let Nox deal with it now.

 

\---

 

“Listen, I owe you dinner. A drink at least.” Elliott said, four days after the punching incident, as he slid into the space next to Bloodhound on the lounge couch. He'd come to see if Wraith was around, but seeing Bloodhound reminded him that they'd done the world a favor and must be thanked for it. The hunter hummed, non-committal, their gaze still on the holoscreen being projected above the table. 

Right. Squad announcements. Of course they'd be more focused on that. Well, Elliott could fix that.

“C'mooonnn,” he whined, leaning against them, but pulled back when they stiffened under his weight. Okay, no touchy. “You punched a guy out for me, it's only fair I repay you.” 

“I didn't knock him out.” They said after a long sigh, “and I don't eat or drink in front of people. I hope you can at least piece together why on your own.”

“Sounds boring.”

“You don't know anything about me, Elliott.” They pointed out, and he shrugged.

“I know you're funny when you want to be, and I know you'll punch a guy in the face twice to let your concussed squadmate sneak by the press. That's two whole things there, Houndy.” he shot back, raising two fingers and wiggling them for emphasis.

“For the love of the Allfather do not call me that again.” they were annoyed, sure, but Elliott could hear a huff to their voice that told him they were just as amused. “And for the record, only the first punch was for you.”

Elliott was about to ask what that was supposed to mean, but his attention was drawn by a graphic on the holoscreen announcing that the squads for the upcoming Apex season were about to be displayed.

“They usually do the favorites last, so we won't be til close to the end.” He murmured to Bloodhound in the anticipating silence that had fallen over the room; everyone waiting with bated breath to see who made it. Bloodhound nodded, though their focus was wholly on the screen. Were they nervous? Probably not, but the thought was fun to entertain.

The announcer started at squad 20 and worked down, the first few full of nobodies he'd never heard of, and probably would continue to not hear of. Towards the middle he recognized names, some promising upstarts who could really be something in a few years. Then there came the legends, those with at least a season's worth of experience, with a fan following already well established. He would be among these, but Bloodhound hadn't been announced yet either.

He looked away from the screen to watch them instead. They were clearly tensed, leaning forward, forearms draped over their knees. Maybe they were nervous, then…

“Ladies, Gents and Fans, your final squad will be-” oh shit he'd zoned out, he must have missed his own squad being called-, “Wraith,” fucking sweet, he'd have to congratulate her-, “Mirage,” wait what? “And Bloodhound!” Wait _what_?

His jaw dropped as the room erupted finally into cheers of joy and shouts of outrage. Elliott whipped his head back up to Bloodhound who slowly turned to look at him as well.

“Well I guess you're just stuck with me!” He yelled over the uproar, beaming at them. This time as he moved to wrap his arm around their shoulders he did so noticeably, gave them time to shrug away. They didn't, though, just shook their head as they let him pull them closer to his side.

“It must be due to our relationship.” They speculated, “more fans would like us fighting together than against one another.”

“Hey I'm not complaining, a team with my best friend and my partner. I just won the lottery of squad picks!”

“I think I'll be needing that drink now.”

Elliott threw his head back and laughed.

 

\---

 

Bloodhound returned to their apartment hours after they had planned to after Elliott had insisted they stay for drinks, despite knowing they would not be drinking. They'd done so anyway, figuring someone responsible needed to stay with him, and it was a good thing they did as they had to piggyback him home. The media would have a field day with that one. 

“Oh, hello there.” They murmured as Sigrun flew down from her perch on a bookshelf to land on their shoulder, her brothers holding back; probably upset due to their late return.

“Don't be so grumpy.” They told the birds as though they would understand, stepping fully into their living room, pulling their mask off as they did. Almost as soon as their hair was free, Sigrun set about fussing with the messy strands, tucking the strays back into their failing braid. They let the bird do as she wished, it really wasn't as though she could make their hair look more disastrous. 

They slumped down onto their couch with a sigh, Sindri and Eitri swooping down to sit by their head. They leaned back, closing their eyes for just a moment...

They must have dozed off because when they next blinked their eyes open they were horizontal on the couch, and the golden light of morning was streaming through the blinds. Half-memories and muffled thoughts swam through their waking mind as their dreams rushed away like darting fish. A warm smile on a grey-stubbled face, soft brown eyes, a firm hand on their shoulder to ground them. 

A knife through their ribcage-

They groaned, rubbing a hand over their face. They had half a mind to roll over and keep sleeping, but the half urging them up was stronger. They sat up, body stiff from the cramped couch, but they had slept in worse places. They would live. A chorus of squawks from their kitchen told them that a certain trio was also awake and expecting breakfast.

“You’ll wake the Allfather with all that complaining!” they called to them, laughing at the ravens’ responding cries of offense; their dreamed memories already slipping away as they stood to care for their companions. It was best that way after all.

 

\---

 

“Hey.”

“FUCK!” Elliott screeched, dropping the spatula in his hand and flinching at the loud clatter of the metal against kitchen tile. “Wraith, you gotta stop doing that, I’m gonna have an anu- anrun- a- you’re gonna kill me. You will kill me for real, Wraith, is that what you want?”

His friend just grinned at him from across the kitchen island as though she hadn’t just broken the laws of physics to phase into his apartment, uninvited, to scare him. He glared at her even as he crouched down to pick up the spatula and continued to make his omelette. 

“Do you want one?” He asked, still glaring. Wraith shook her head, coming around the counter to lean back against the other side, crossing her arms.

“I wanted to ask when you were planning on letting me in on your pretend dating scheme with Bloodhound.”

Elliott nearly dropped the spatula a second time.

“What makes you think it's pretend?” He asked, but it sounded weak even to himself, and Wraith’s short burst of laughter told him she didn’t buy it either.

“You almost pissed yourself when they apologized to you, and only days later you’re ‘madly in love’? I’m not stupid, Elliott.” She pushed off the counter to come stand next to him, “So what’s up with that?”

He explained the situation begrudgingly as he finished making his breakfast, and moved to the table to eat. Wraith let out a low whistle, leaning back in her chair,

“You outdid yourself this time, Witt.”

“Hey, it was their idea!”

“You agreed to it. Immediately.” Well, can’t argue with that logic he supposed, shrugging and shoving a disgruntled bite of omelette into his mouth. They both fell into silence as he finished his food, and Wraith scrolled through her phone. It wasn't awkward, though, the silences between them almost never were. When he finished and stood to dump his dishes in the sink Wraith stood as well, coming up beside him and resting a hand on his shoulder. 

“I won’t tell anyone about your dumb stunt, but,” she paused for a second, her own grin falling as Elliott frowned at her strange tone, “just don’t get yourself hurt, okay?” Their eyes met for a moment, and he could see she was being sincere. Breaking the eye contact, he scoffed, she didn’t need to worry about him. She had enough to worry about already.

“Aye aye captain.” He saluted with two fingers, making Wraith roll her eyes, that easy grin returning to her face. That was the Wraith he liked to see. She had faced too much darkness of her own to make a fuss about his. He would be fine, he always was.

 

\---

 

It was starting to look like landing in Thunderdome was a bad idea. Bloodhound wasn’t blaming Elliott for the poor decision -- well, not out loud -- but having a gun at least would have lifted their mood a fraction. 

As it was they were huddled in one of the tall metal structures, staying out of the fighting. Their plan was to wait out the battling squads then clean out the leftover loot. They didn’t often play the role of a scavenger, but there was certainly no shame in it. After all, the raven, the Allfather’s own messengers, were known to do the same. 

“No luck either, huh?” Mirage fading into existence beside them actually startled them for once, but he didn’t seem to notice, “Got a Hemlock, but some asshole snatched all the ammo before me.” he complained, gesturing to the gun slung across his back.

“How did-” They were going to ask him how he’d gotten up to them without making any noticeable noise, when a smattering of bullets sent sparks raining down on them. They’d been spotted. Elliott sent a decoy down towards the advancing squad to draw their attention while they both moved the opposite way. The plan was to jump down and make a run for another zone, and hopefully meet up with Wraith along the way.

Not everyone had been fooled by the decoy, though, as they were met with someone climbing up the side they were trying to jump down. Thinking fast, Bloodhound pushed Elliott over the edge, sending him past the enemy who was just as shocked by the move, and even more so shocked by Bloodhound yanking him up over the edge and punching him right in the face.

They grinned behind their mask at the satisfying crack of the man’s nose breaking under their fist, and a few good kicks were enough to down him. Unconscious, but not dead, they would fix that shortly. They had two other targets to deal with first.

They swiveled around just as the other two squad members came up the zipline, guns already aimed for them. They were prepared, though, diving and rolling away. A few shots whizzed by them, and one pinged off their jumpkit, but they still got to cover unscathed. They pulled a knife from its sheath, crouched and ready to pounce. The enemies were approaching slowly, but no amount of caution on their end would save them from their fate at Bloodhound's hands. 

They could hear one of them stopping their advance to help their fallen squadmate, a fatal mistake. They rose quickly, adjusting their grip, then let the knife loose. 

Bloodhound ducked back into cover before they could see it, but they knew she fell quickly, cleanly, the knife neatly imbedded in her temple. Several bullets from the final squad member had cut through their shoulder, but Bloodhound could hardly feel it, every fiber of their being invested in getting this kill. In prevailing again. In proving to the world that they would fall only when the gods decided it so. 

“Hey asshole!” Elliott’s voice cut through their senses, pulling them back into the moment. What was he doing? They peeked from their cover to see the enemy shoot the rest of his clip into a decoy. He swore, fumbling to reload, and Bloodhound took their chance. They tackled him from behind, sending them both to the ground. 

That was their second mistake. It was immediately obvious that this man was much more adept at hand to hand than with a gun. Of course Bloodhound wasn’t an ammateur by any means, but he was still able to gain the upper hand, rolling and throwing them down the zipline shaft. 

Mistake number one was letting their jumpkit get damaged. 

 

\---

 

Elliott couldn’t believe Bloodhound had pushed him! The nerve! His jumpkit kept him from getting injured from the fall, but it was still rude. He was going to have a chat with them after this match, that was for sure. 

He just had to go save their ass first.

“Shit, they work fast.” He muttered, looking over the edge he was clinging to, and seeing the death box next to an unconscious man. That just left the one who was completely focused on slinking towards where Elliott figured Bloodhound was hunkered down.

“Hey asshole!” he yelled, sending a decoy out from his perch, hoping the hunter would be able to take advantage of the surprise. They did, of course, but before Elliott could pull himself completely up and help them finish him off they were being tossed down to the level below. His instinct was to run to them, but the asshole was getting back up, so Bloodhound would have to wait. Elliott pulled his useless Hemlock from his back and aimed, causing the man to hesitate for just a moment. Just enough time for Elliott to bash the guy across the face with it.

He was out like a light, effectively counting their squad defeated, his and his buddy’s bodies being teleported from the arena and death boxes put in their place. He ignored the loot for the moment, instead kneeling by the zipline to call down,

“Bloodhound?” when no answer came he gracelessly jumped down himself, stumbling when he saw his squadmate’s state. He swore as fell to his knees next to them, their chest heaving, breaths gasping desperately around what had to be blood; sounding as though they were drowning on dry land. Their jumpkit must have broken. He made a few aborted motions, unsure how to help. He had no syringes or med kits, and attempting to stop the bleeding in their shoulder would do nothing for the soup their insides must be.

“Gr...ey?” They mumbled out, and shit they were conscious?

“Uh, no, no. It’s me, it’s Mir-, Elliott, its Elliott. I’m here.” he stammered out. Bloodhound let out a small ‘ah’, a lifetime of disappointment poured into the one syllable. They continued struggling to pull breath into failing lungs, and Elliott finally settled on reaching for the mask, as it was clearly filling with blood; trails of it leaking from the edges to the metal floor. He flinched back as a blood slicked glove caught his wrist,

“Do. Not.” They somehow managed to growl, so he murmured some bullshit about it all being okay, and took the hand grabbing his wrist into his own; squeezing despite the heavy scent of iron and the warm liquid now on his own skin making him want to vomit. 

His attention was caught by Bloodhound’s other hand twitching, trying to reach for one of their knives. He caught the gist, dropping their hand gently to take the knife in hand.

“Here…” They wheezed, pointing, and without giving himself too much time to think about it, Elliott quickly slid the blade home. A moment later they were replaced with a death box, though the blood covering the floor and his skin remained. He still had their knife clutched in a shaking hand. 

“Come on, Elliott, pull yourself together. They’re fine, everyone’s fine.” he said to himself, taking forcibly slow, deep breaths. Maybe a minute later he heard Wraith approaching, at least she'd survived the early game bloodbath.

“We’ll get to a respawn beacon.” She said, helping him up despite the gesture causing her to get blood on herself.

“Yeah, alright, let’s do this.” he nodded, shaking himself out, and pocketing the knife for safe keeping. He’d be sure to get it back to them safe and sound…

And _then_ yell at them for pushing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i said caustic would show up, but i didnt say he wouldnt get punched in the face twice soooooo
> 
> also fun fact: originally i was planning on having bloodhound land on some rebar and get impaled but i figured that would be an excessive amount of impaling only two chapters in with what happened to elliott in chapter 1


	3. The Fox and the Hound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliott tries to understand, Bloodhound remembers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha its been a hot minute huh, got into one of those 'this sucks nobody wants to read it' moods but like,, you guys have only had nice things to say so far sooooo thought i'd finally get this out here. im praying i got the italics formatted right lol

_“Alright, you know how to shoot, kid?”_

_“Stop calling me that, I'm not a child.”_

_“Okay, one; anyone less than half my age is a kid. Two; that's not what I asked.” They stared each other down for a few moments, but Bloodhound soon relented with a scoff._

_“I've never had a reason to use a gun.”_

_“Well you have one now, here.” Grey tossed them a handgun, which they caught easily but eyed warily. They'd seen guns in use before, but never had one been in their own hands outside of disarming someone aiming at them. A situation which admittedly happened more often than they'd like._

_“It won't bite you, I didn't even load it. Also the safety's on.” he motioned to point it out, and Bloodhound rolled their eyes,_

_“I know what a safety is, I've never used a gun, but I'm not an idiot.” they retorted, pointing it out themself and flicking it off and on again._

_“You know that attitude of yours will get you killed right?”_

_“You're still alive aren't you?”_

_Grey looked shocked for a second, at a loss for words, and almost as though he were considering if he should be angry or not._

_He apparently decided it wasn't worth the effort if his rumbling laugh was anything to go by._

 

\---

 

Elliott didn't even make it to that respawn beacon, taken out by a sniper he never saw. Wraith lasted a bit longer, but alone she didn't stand much of a chance against the others all vying to get their fallen squadmates back.

Elliott wasn't too upset about the loss, the first official match of the season was always a clusterfuck. Everyone was just trying to figure themselves out, and trying to play a hero. For newbies gaining audience attention earlier was the key to success.

The loss itself was neither here nor there, but the blood caked under his fingernails reminded him of Bloodhound's absence in the medical building, the nurses informing him they'd left nearly as soon as they'd woken. In fact, he hadn't seen them at all since the match, though not for a lack of trying.

As it turned out Bloodhound was a very hard person to find when they didn't want to be found. Too bad for them that Elliott was one stubborn bastard. He found them hours later, the sun already below the horizon, but the full moon was still casting clear shadows across the rooftop.

He hadn't even known there was a way onto the housing complex's roof until now, and he lingered awkwardly in the doorway; watching Bloodhound's silhouette against the deep indigo sky. It wasn't often that he was at a loss for words, but the silence felt heavy and he wasn't sure he should be the one to break it.

“I know you're there.” he slumped a bit in relief at their tone, light and airy, teasing him. He tried his best to not look over eager to join them when they patted the spot next to themself in invitation. He startled slightly when a shadow on their shoulder came to life, the raven ruffling its feathers as it tilted its head at him. He felt the urge to shrink away from it's judgement, but whatever it saw, it must have approved as it settled again.

“I held onto this for you.” He said, handing the knife over, “Didn't know how to clean it so I just wiped the blood off. Most of it anyway.” 

“Thank you.” They both fell silent after that, Bloodhound with their head tilted up to the stars and Elliott looking down to pick at the dried blood under his nails. He startled again when another raven faded in from the night and landed next to him, this one stretching up to its fullest height to examine him.

“Exactly how many of these do you have, Houndy?” He asked, trying to shrug off the feeling that he was being watched by hundreds of unseen eyes.

“You'll never know.” Their voice still carried it's previous joking air, but Elliott knew it couldn't be genuine. Nobody hid on a roof because they felt good. If it was because of the loss, the way they died, or whoever they'd thought he was in their delirium, he didn't know for sure. He could make an educated guess, though.

When he'd cleaned off the knife earlier, he'd noticed an inscription on the handle. ‘Greyson N. Fox’ was what he could make out. Whoever that was must have been something to Bloodhound. That was the name they'd called for as they laid dying after all. He was horribly curious, but he wasn't about to pry. Prying opened himself up for being prodded back, and that was a dangerous game to play.

“I bet you only have the two, and you're just trying to freak me out.” He decided to joke back, ignoring his selfish desire to learn something about the hunter that no one else knew. He didn't need to make them spill their darkest secrets to help them feel better anyway. Fuck that 'do you wanna talk about it’ bullshit.

He definitely did not scream when a third raven landed on his shoulder.

“Please tell me this is the last one.” He begged, flinching when the bird on his shoulder pecked him on the side of his head. Bloodhound said something to it in a language he didn't recognize, but he could definitely recognize a scolding. The bird looked at its master, head tilting one way then the other…

And then it pecked him again.

“Hey!” Elliott shrugged the raven off, and it fluttered over to land lightly on Bloodhound's head.

“That means he likes you.”

“Okay I am calling bullshit on that one right now.” He narrowed his eyes at them, and they met his gaze steadily for a moment before they made a small choked noise. A half-laugh.

“Alright, he doesn't like you. But he didn't go for your eyes, so that is a good sign.”

The look he gave them for that must have been something special to make them turn their head away and cough a few times to cover their laughter. He sat back and grinned, thoroughly satisfied with his cheering up job. Bloodhound, after gathering themself again, looked back up to the sky; searching the stars.

“You never get used to it, do you.” They said in that soft tone they would use from time to time that made Elliott's chest ache. It was a statement, not a question, but Elliott found himself agreeing under his breath despite the distinct feeling that they weren't talking to him. 

Whether they meant the view or something else entirely, he had no idea, but it still resonated, somehow.

 

\---

 

_“Is Grey your name or just a cover?”_

_“Why's it matter to you all of a sudden?” The man across the ship's kitchen asked, turning and gesturing at them with the plate he was washing. They shrugged,_

_“Just want to know if there's something else I should call you, now that we have known each other for several months.” They lied easily. In truth they hadn't any problem calling him Grey, but curiosity was a beast they couldn't always force into submission. Grey definitely saw through them, but sighed and answered regardless._

_“For your information, it is my real name.” he grumbled, turning back to continue washing the dishes._

_“Short for Greyson, or did your parents name you after a color?”_

_“Well we can’t all be called Blooth Houndor you know?”_

_“Blóðhundur. Just say Bloodhound, for the love of the Allfather.”_

_Grey laughed, and Bloodhound let him be for a moment before pouncing on the subject again, despite having not gotten a solid answer on the Grey vs Greyson question._

_“And the surname Fox?” They leaned forward, arms braced on the table, smirking wickedly. Grey paused in scrubbing the plate, glaring at them over his shoulder. When they didn't back down under his gaze, he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling,_

_“Okay, fine. I had my last name legally changed twenty years ago because I was young, stupid, and edgy. Happy?” he relented, his scrubbing somehow taking on a grumpy quality._

_“Very.” They said, grinning in satisfaction; not that it took much to get Grey to spill embarrassing things about himself, but it was still funny every time._

_“Oh, and Grey?” They said after a moment's silence, pouring as much sincerity into their voice as they could. Grey turned with a soft 'hm?’ and raised brow, “If it's anything to you, I think you're still stupid and edgy.”_

_They were howling with laughter even before the wet dish rag hit them square in the face._

 

\---

 

“You ever do anything other than stay in your apartment or sometimes sit in the lounge to watch people creepily from the corner?”

Coming from anyone else those words wouldn't have bothered them, but hearing it from Elliott got under their skin. Bloodhound couldn't fully grasp why, but something buried deep wanted to prove to him that he was wrong.

Which is how they ended up out here with him in the middle of the woods, smiling to themself as he stumbled awkwardly through the undergrowth. He was like a newborn fawn discovering it had legs for the first time, and trying to move too quickly for the fragile limbs to keep up.

Of course, in reality, Elliott was a grown man who could kill someone if he wanted to, but if anything that just made the comparison all the better. They fought down a laugh when they heard him curse behind them after tripping over yet another root. Maybe if the producers planted some trees in King's Canyon the poor man would learn how to pick up his feet.

“We are almost there, I trust you can survive the rest of the walk?” They glanced over their shoulder as they pushed a branch out of their own way only to purposely let it loose in time to smack Elliott in the face.

“Not with you cons- co- conspic-, plotting against me!” He sputtered, trying to duck the branch only to stumble forward again upon breaking his concentration on not tripping. He ended up on the ground, looking half a second away from full on pouting about it. Bloodhound took a knee, offering him a hand. 

“I could always carry you.” They suggested, watching in satisfaction as Elliott's eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed in suspicion. So expressive, so fun to tease.

“That a legt- legim- legitimate offer?” He asked, deciding to take their offered hand. Bloodhound pulled him to his feet, and then forward, bringing his face inches from their mask. Huh, he was taller than them, they'd never noticed before.

“Do you really want to find out?” they barely gave Elliott time to react before letting go of his hand to keep moving towards their goal, “This way!” 

They grinned at his indignant sputtering, but kept their gaze forward as they stepped into a clearing. It was a small space, surrounded by jagged brambles and twisted roots. A decent sized rock, top flattened by centuries of wind and water long past, sat at the center. Several beams of light cut through the canopy to dance along its surface.

“Come, sit.” They finally turned to look at Elliott, gesturing with a tilt of their head as they climbed easily onto the knee-high stone, and sat down cross legged.

“You brought me out here to sit?”

“Yes.” They gestured to the spot next to themself. Elliott shrugged, stepping up with less grace, but thankfully not tripping. He settled next to them, looking stiff and out of place. It was cute, in a way.

“So what now?” His voice was quieter than usual, as though he were worried he would disrupt something. 

“We watch.” They answered in a similar tone. They considered speaking of the Allfather and the wonder of his creations, but Elliott did not strike them as a religious man. If he could marvel at the beauty of life without such beliefs, then there was no reason in convincing him. They turned to look from their surroundings to Elliott when he snorted a soft laugh.

“So when you aren't watching people you come out here and watch trees?” 

They rolled their eyes, placing their hand on top of Elliott's head and physically turning it to make him look out into the woods.

“Not just trees, look closer.” they insisted, letting go of his head to point out a small bird hopping through the branches of a bush. “All life has struggled since it's conception to remain alive, that deserves some recognition, no?” 

“Weird philosophy coming from a hunter.” Elliott retorted, but his words had no bite. He was just curious, and understandably so.

“There is a balance to it. One appreciates the struggle all the more when they struggle against another life.” They turned back to watch the clearing as Elliott nodded. Whether he truly understood the sentiment or not they weren't sure, but they wouldn't try to make him. 

“So what about the Allfather stuff? That real, or part of the act?” Ah, he was interested after all. Perhaps not to believe, but to understand, and they could appreciate as much.

“There is not a singular reason I do anything. I hunt because the gods will it, because I want to, because it makes me feel alive, and appreciate this life given to me. I am sure you too have many reasons for any given thing you do.” 

“Yeah, that makes a lot of sense, actually.” Elliott responded, still in that quiet mumble, like he was lost somewhere else. They could press back and question his own motives, but why break the peace over something like that? Instead they let themself relax into the shared silence, finding a sort of comfort in the presence of another person, despite the lack of conversation.

They almost jumped when an unexpected weight landed on their shoulder some time later, heavier than a raven. They relaxed in the second it took to realize it was Elliott's head, the man fast asleep against their side. They considered waking him, but stopped themself short of pushing him away. Suddenly fascinated.

They had seen his face before, obviously, but never this lax. He was always grinning, laughing, smirking, yelling; always something. Never dull or blank. Never a mask. Though never this… peaceful.

They could see a few scars maring his otherwise clear skin, but they didn't think him less handsome for them. They wouldn't dare tell him, but he really was terribly attractive. He most certainly did not need the ego boost of hearing it from them, though. 

Almost without thinking about it, they raised a hand and gently brushed the hair away from Elliott's face, tracing their fingers over the scars. They wondered if he'd gotten them from injuries in the games, or sometime before. 

It was alarming how badly they wanted to know.

 

\---

 

_“Grey?”_

_“Yeah kiddo? I'm here, I'm here.” They'd never heard Grey sound so… scared? Why was he scared? Bloodhound couldn't remember, but they knew they should-_

_They groaned, tossing their head to the side as agony washed over them, coming in waves from somewhere between their neck and left shoulder. Their skin felt as though it were on fire, and their hair stuck to their forehead in clumps. They tried to lift a hand to push it back, but their limbs felt like lead._

_“Hurts… everywhere…” they mumbled, sucking in a harsh breath when a cool rag was pressed against their head, relaxing marginally at the small relief._

_“Yeah, I know kid, just hang in there alright?” They couldn't force a nod, so they made the closest to a sound of affirmation as they could._

_“What happened?” They cracked their eyes open to search Grey's face, but soon had to close them again as another shock of pain left them trembling. He shushed them, stroking their sweat slicked hair until their breathing evened out once more._

_“You took a nasty blow back there, but it's gonna be okay.” He still sounded scared. They didn't like it. Grey was wild and way too reckless for his age and so, so fearless. This wasn't right._

_“Think..” they forced out, “think it'll.. leave a cool scar?” Their mouth twitched up ever so slightly at the short laugh they shocked out of the man._

_“Yeah, I think you'll have a pretty sick battle scar.”_

_“Bet … I'll still look better.. than you.” Their smile only grew at the sound of Grey's deep laughter._

_“I bet so too, kid. I bet so too.”_

 

\---

 

“Huh, wuh?? I'm awake!” Elliott scrambled forward, and then he was falling down, landing face first into the dirt? Why was there dirt? Shit, he was still in the middle of nowhere with- 

“Bloodhound?” He called out, sitting up and rubbing the soreness from his nose and cheeks. A familiar mask, somehow radiating a grin, loomed into view. “How long was I out?” He asked through a yawn. There was still light slanting through the leaves, but it had taken on an amber hue, and had stretched the shadows far out of shape.

“Not long.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you're full of shit?”

“Many, actually.” Bloodhound hardly sounded offended, and in fact seemed proud to admit it. They stood and hopped down from the rock, stretching almost cat-like, then looked back down at him. He stood, brushing the grass and leaves from his clothes. He wondered, not for the first time, what Bloodhound was seeing when they just stared. At him, at the stars, at the life around them.

They had explained it, but Elliott felt like he was missing a piece. He still didn't understand, not really, and he wanted to so badly. It was a missing puzzle piece, a missing part to a machine. It was his nature to want to solve things, or to fix them. He just wasn't sure Bloodhound could be solved, and he definitely wasn’t in any position to be fixing a person.

“We should head back, I would hate to see you try to navigate in the dark.” 

Elliott couldn't stop himself from grinning widely at the tease, though his stomach fluttered as he remembered the moment earlier when they'd pulled him close. He could have sworn he'd felt their breath against his face.

“Lead the way, mighty hunter.” He returned the joking tone, bowing dramatically. He could tell the hunter in question rolled their eyes at him, and he wondered how such an expressive person could ever survive under a mask. That was probably a question for another time, though, or for never.

 

\---

 

_“What did you mean?”_

_“Gotta be more specific than that.”_

_“The night we met. You said I had death in my eyes. What did you mean?”_

_“I mean, I was drunk off my ass, first of all.”_

_“I am being serious, Grey.” Bloodhound turned to look at the man they'd known and shared everything with for the past three years. The man who was their mentor, their friend, and probably the closest thing to a father they would ever get._

_They held a half empty bottle of whatever it was they'd grabbed from the cabinet hours ago loosely between their knees. Since then their mind had slowed in its constant state of racing, but hadn't cleared. Like a stagnant puddle of mud. That was about right. Fucking mud._

_“You're drunk. Second of all.” Grey pointed out, very helpfully. Bloodhound groaned, tipping the bottle back to take a long drink. It burned on the way down. They liked it._

_“Just answer the question, Grey.” they all but begged. Grey sighed, he looked pained and Bloodhound felt a stab of guilt for worrying him. Too bad the guilt only drove them to tip the bottle back again._

_“You were nineteen, just a kid y'know, but you looked haunted. You looked like you were dead, but still walking.”_

_“Why offer to take me with you then?” Grey was silent for so long Bloodhound was certain he was going to just ignore them, so they turned their head back to watching the stars from their windowsill perch._

_“Guess I just didn't want to be the only one.” Grey's murmured reply drew their attention back to him, and they grinned; wild and bitter._

_“To being dead but still walking.” Bloodhound said, raising their bottle then downing the remainder in one go._

 

\---

 

They'd asked him what he did in his own free time, not at all sure what to expect. Out of the list they'd compiled mentally, though, this was definitely a surprise.

“I mean it's not much. Not compared to the one I've got back home at least.” Elliott explained as he led Bloodhound into the spare room of his apartment that he had transformed into a workshop.

They knew Elliott was intelligent, extremely so in fact, but they hadn't fully connected that to the tech he used. It seemed most competitors who used tech had it made for them, but then again they should have known better. Elliott never seemed the sort to rely on others, at least not for things so important. 

“Take pride in your work. You are not humble about anything else, do not start here.” They just about scolded with a shake of their head, Elliott was such an enigma. Vain, yet at times insecure; a braggart, yet now humble. He seemed a bit flustered by the compliment, but recovered quickly. 

They listened with interest as he showed them his tech, and how it worked. They could grasp most of it, but it was still a wonder how he had come up with it all.

“Uh, this is probably really boring to you, huh?” Elliott actually sounded sheepish, running a hand through his hair. He did that when he was nervous, they'd noticed.

“You let me drag you through the woods, it's only fair that-”

“Yeah and I fell asleep, I remember. Hound, listen. Just, you don't gotta act like you wanna be here, there's no cameras here to pretend for.” He sounded so defeated, Bloodhound almost wanted to grab his stupid handsome face in their hands and explain to him how wrong he was. About them and about himself.

“Yes, there are no cameras here, so why do you question my intent?” They stepped closer to him, reaching out to hover their hand just barely over his arm, “I was friendly with you before this deal, and I plan to continue being so. I do enjoy your company.” They admitted, finally laying their hand on Elliott's arm. “If I've overstepped-”

“No! No, no.” Elliott blurted out, grabbing hold of their arm as well, “I was just, being re- ric- ridiclu- stupid, was just being stupid.” 

“You are not stupid. Ridiculous, though, I will give you that one.” They slid their hand up to squeeze his shoulder, Elliott laughed,

“And you're nicer than everyone gives you credit for.”

“That's alright.” they shrugged. They never really put weight into what people they didn't know thought of them. Invariably the Bloodhound they had an opinion of wasn't who they were anyway.

“So what about yours?” Elliott asked, clearing his throat as he took a step back. Bloodhound felt the urge to put themself back in his space, but resisted. “Your tech I mean. Unless it's a secret, in which case, definitely share.”

Bloodhound couldn't hold in their laughter, shoulders shaking as they tapped the eyepiece of their mask with two fingers.

“I have a device that releases a pulse. It can pick up a heartbeat, heat, electric signals, almost any detectable trace of life. Then it bounces back and my goggles create an image of what has been 'seen’.” Elliott appeared stunned for a second, then looked for all the world like he had just won the lottery.

“Holy shit! So you do do echo- ehcho- fuck, echolocation!” He shouted it like it was an accusation, and it was Bloodhound's turn to be stunned into silence. Then burst into laughter, bending over to almost wheeze with the force of it. They could not recall the last time they had laughed so hard it hurt, but by the gods did it feel good.

“I did.. say I am part bat.” They got out between breaths, and Elliott joined them in doubling over, leaning against his work table for support.

If they also leaned on each other, well, it was just for convenience.

 

\---

 

_“Don't talk to me, head hurts.”_

_“You're hungover, that's what happens when you drink.” Grey wasn't shouting, but Bloodhound could tell he was angry. Or disappointed. They'd rather have the anger, though. He set a glass of water down on the table in front of them, and they nodded, but kept their gaze low; the lights overhead just made the headache worse._

_“Get it over with. Lecture me.” They mumbled into the glass as they took a sip. Grey sighed, he sounded so tired. They hated that they were the reason for it._

_“I'm not gonna lecture you.” he said, sitting down across from them. They chanced a glance up at him, and regretted it immediately. He was definitely disappointed._

_“Listen, Bloodhound,” oh no, he was pulling out the full name, “you're twenty-two, you're an adult or whatever. I can't tell you what to do. I mean, I never could cause you're a menace, but that's not the point.” Bloodhound smiled softly, even when Grey was trying to be serious he couldn't do it._

_“The point is, I- just, damn it kid, I'm the one you got looking out for you, and I'm not the best at the parenting gig okay? But I'm good enough to tell you that trying to drown whatever you're running from is gonna take you with it.”_

_“This is sounding like a lecture, Grey.” They mumbled at the table. They'd meant to tease him, but it had just come out quiet and hurting. Grey's chair squeaked against the floor as he moved around to sit next to them, and they leaned into his side when a strong arm wrapped around their shoulders._

_“Just talk to me first next time, and then we can get hammered. 'Kay?” He squeezed them closer for a second as they nodded, laughing softly as he ruffled their hair._

 

\---

 

_“What did you do? By the gods, what did you do?” She was holding their shoulders, shaking them, but they couldn't feel it. Couldn't feel anything but the warm liquid soaking their sleeves. It ran down their arms in rivulets, dripping off their fingertips._

_Her eyes were searching theirs, wide and panicked and the same shade of blue as their own. She shook them again, she was saying something. They couldn't hear it, they couldn't-_

Bloodhound opened their eyes, sitting up with their knife already pulled from under their pillow, ready to strike. Their room was empty, though, and they were alone. 

They fell backwards, bouncing slightly when they hit the mattress. They stared up at the ceiling for several minutes, their breath slowing down to a normal rhythm. 

Then they reached over, grabbed a pillow to cover their face and screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact about this chapter: Grey's last name was gonna be Wolf but then i came up with the chapter title idea and the rest is history


End file.
